the food comes up, lands in toilet
water (look at all the beautiful
colours) and her throat hurts
(like acid fireworks). voices echo
in a confused and battered head,
hurting from being bashed against
locker doors.
((and bitches, she's got no way to
stop it))

"why can't you just be ten times
thinner?"

((or twenty))
(((thirty)))

"why couldn't you just not
weigh anything at all?"

the writing comes out, spewing
words onto paper covered in
multi-coloured chalk dust (she
writes heightened words that only
lined paper knows) and she's
pissed off to nothing she's ever
known before (something she
never thought she'd meet) and
she writes the words "i'm
sorry" onto blank pages of
a diary she never needed until
now.

"why can't you just be high
sometimes?"

((people like you
better when you're
happy))

"why couldn't you just be
high all the time?"

the life comes out, spilling
onto an invisible party of
people who cared (no one
really did) and there's no
food left in her, her insides
swell until they're no longer
on the inside. (every one
complained about how they
could always see her ribs)
she smiles knowing that
there would finally be peace
for her heart that doesn't
have nutrition to function
anymore. she sighs the
words "goodbye" as they
bound up the stairs.

"we found your letter,
baby"

((good, now leave me
alone))

"please don't die on
us now"

the pulse beats, slowing
until the doctors wonder
if she's going to make it
any longer. (but she just
wants to let go) and all
this time they made her
fell so useless because
they couldn't get past her
in the doorway. ("just
keep movin' fatty") and
she's sick of standing
through it. (she's sick
to her stomach, head
and heart).

"we don't think she's
going to make it"

((her heartbeat slows
to deadly pace. "keep
them occupied, doctor,
aren't you supposed
to help the needy?"))

"maybe it's better that
she leaves"

((and there's nothing but
a chalky line between me
and heaven now))